


Falling Off the Edge

by Spencer5460



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6188014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love had always been a mystery to him, whether of family, friends or lovers.  He never seemed to get quite right.  Only Starsky’s affection had seemed to come easily.  But that was something he didn’t dare question, as if to do so in any depth might be to lose the one relationship he’d come to count on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Off the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pre-series story.

Matt McConnell had passed through the stages of denial, anger, bargaining and depression, and reached the final stage – graceful acceptance - in a matter of minutes. He had no choice. He was dying. The ambulance sirens wailed in the distance but would never reach him in time. 

Jack Mason wasn’t so calm. He gripped his partner’s hand as if by the holding on he could keep him from slipping any further away. Just beyond waited the edge of a dark abyss. Frightening in its sheer depth and unknowability. 

“Hold on to me, Matt. Just hold on, goddammit,” Jack whispered fiercely, inches from the man’s pale face.

Matt’s eyelids were heavy yet he somehow lifted them just once more. Whether he was seeing his distraught partner or something else entirely Hutch couldn’t be sure.

“It’s okay, Jack. It’s gonna be okay.” The dying man’s words were puffs of air. 

Hutch held back as he watched them. Death was the most final and intimate exchange. Matt and Jack were his brothers in blue, drinking buddies and sparring partners. But how well did he really know them? Yet even Hutch could see that once Matt entered the abyss, nothing for Jack would ever be okay again. 

Just fifteen minutes earlier, Matt and Jack had come to deliver an arrest warrant to a resident on the fifth floor. Instead of a disgruntled father delinquent in his child support payments, they’d been met with gun fire through the half-opened door. 

Hutch and his own partner, Dave Starsky, had responded to a call for backup at the apartment building on Stevens Boulevard where gunshots had been reported.

They’d rushed up three flights to find Matt laying in the stairwell, blood seeping from a bullet wound to his chest, turning his dark uniform shirt translucent under the dull lights. 

Inside the apartment, the gunman had delivered a death blow to himself as well. He faced down into the filthy, brown carpet of his living room, a warm gun inches from his outstretch hand. His burdens were no longer too heavy to bear. 

The hum of ordinary everyday life drifting from the surrounding units - a baby crying and the echoes of daytime soap operas - made the scene even more surreal. 

Starsky had gone to round up residents of the building and herd them back into their apartments in order to keep them away from any other possible the danger. “Calm down, everyone. The situation is under control.” His composed, authoritative voice resonated in the narrow hallway. 

“Take care of Kim,” Matt whispered. “You’re like fa. . . family.”

Jack just nodded his head, too intent on conjuring a miracle to reply.

Then Matt let his head rest on Jack’s knee and drifted off. Time seemed to freeze. Hutch could imagine a star imploding in some distant galaxy a star, bringing someone’s world to an end.

Jack broke into choking sobs as he leaned his head onto Matt’s. Hutch had never heard a man cry that way before. Until this very moment, he wasn’t entirely sure that they could. He’d been raised to believe that men held their emotions inside – like when their dog ran away, when their best friend moved, or even when their grandfather died. But now Jack’s tears didn’t seem wrong at all.

Hutch’s hand found its way to Jack’s shuddering shoulder. It seemed awkward, yet entirely natural. He almost didn’t hear Starsky come up the stairs behind him.

“Hutch?” Starsky whispered.

Hutch looked up at him and shook his head. Starsky’s eyes grew glassy with tears. 

oooooooooo

Guerrera Funeral Home was one the largest of its kind in the city, yet its open rooms lined with comfortable armchairs and polished accent tables could barely contain the visitors at Matt McConnell’s memorial services. Floral displays brimming with lilies and gladiolus lined an entire wall.

Units from throughout Los Angeles County, even as far north as Fresno and south as San Diego, came to pay their respects to the young officer. Patrolmen to spare had volunteered to assist with traffic control. 

Starsky and Hutch bumped shoulders through the crush of dark uniforms. They worked their way toward the closed coffin after respectfully admiring the hastily composed displays of photographs. The fullness of a life inadequately distilled down to a few pieces of film. 

Matt as a chubby blond baby, in his high school track uniform showing off a mouthful of braces, formal wedding poses with Kim, his graduation from the police academy, Jack and Matt with their arms around each other, silly grins on their faces. Hutch’s gaze had lingered on those last. 

Starsky nodded to where Kim was standing, surrounded by a large group of friends and family taking turns at embraces and words of comfort. Jack Mason was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, Hutch balked and sent a light touch to his partner’s arm. He felt the walls shrinking in on him as he absorbed the emotional miasma like a sponge. “You go ahead, Starsk.”

Starsky looked at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just think I need some air. Give Kim my condolences, okay?” 

“Sure thing.” Starsky didn’t question him. He pushed ahead while Hutch looked around for an exit. 

He quickly located the outside patio where a few other guests were mingling, grabbing quick smokes and talking quietly in the afternoon air. 

Hutch found a path through the manicured grounds of the funeral home and decided to take a brief walk. He loosened his tie and breathed deeply. The scent of juniper mingled with smoke of Marlboros drifting from the patio. The crape myrtles were just beginning to lose their summer pinks and purples. 

These were the kinds of living things he understood. Simple, uncomplicated. Never questioning him or demanding that he be something other than what he was. Needing only a bit of water and sunshine to flourish. 

When he turned back after a few minutes he was surprised to see Jack leaning alone against the building, leg bent and foot resting flat against the brick. His arms crossed his chest, hands cradling opposite elbows. Hutch had escaped the polite mourners inside only to be confronted with the Jack’s nearly palpable grief mere feet away. 

_Out of the and frying pan into the fire._ Hutch didn’t want to intrude on his grief; yet, on the other hand, to walk away without acknowledging him seemed too callous. 

“Hey, Jack. H. . . How are you doing?” Hutch approached him, stuffing his own hands in his pockets and suddenly wishing he hadn’t given up cigarettes. Both Vanessa and the police academy had pressured him to stop smoking. Most times he was glad he had, but then there were times like these, when he desperately needed something to occupy his hands and disguise his lack of composure.

Jack didn’t seem to notice. He kept his gaze out toward the garden as he responded.

“He wanted to get a burger for lunch, but I said I was sick of burgers. Talked him into stopping for Chinese.” Jack pulled his arms tighter into himself as if they were the only things holding him together. “Goddamn Chinese. Can you believe it? Matt _hated ___Chinese. He only went there to humor me. His last meal was something he didn’t even _like._ ”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Hutch reached out to once again awkwardly touch Jack’s shoulder. He suddenly realized he’d just repeated Matt’s the last words, but it was too late to take them back. He jerked his hand back and replaced it in his pocket. 

_That’s perfect, Hutchinson. Damn, if you don’t always know just what to say._

Facts and figures he was good at. Observations and deductions. But the stormy seas of emotion left him floundering. 

"I know I should be in there with Kim, but I just can’t face her.” Jack turned to Hutch. His eyes held more than simple grief. “She’d been blaming me lately for taking him away from her. Maybe in a way I was.” 

“It’s natural to get close to someone you spend so much time with.” _Look at me playing psychologist,_ he thought mirthlessly. He’d heard some of the same lines from Vanessa just a few months ago. 

“I lost my brother in ‘Nam. Maybe that’s why we got so close. I guess he just came along when I really needed someone.” Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yeah, maybe that’s what it was.” 

He looked out toward the garden and early evening shadows crossed his face. 

His justification, if that’s what it was, was unnecessary. Just about everyone Hutch knew had lost something in the war. A family member, a lover, their innocence. Starsky was no exception, although he didn’t talk about it much. Whether to protect Hutch or himself, Hutch didn’t quite know. 

“I wanted to talk to him about how I felt, but I never did. Then there was Kim. They were having problems, and I didn’t want to complicate things. Now, it’s too late.” Jack swallowed hard. “He died not knowing what he meant to me.” 

Jack turned to look at Hutch for extended seconds, then shook his head as if erasing errant thoughts like an Etch-A-Sketch toy. Hutch’s face burned under his examination. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spill my guts this way. I just thought maybe if anyone understood, it might be you.” 

A soft “I’m sorry” fell from Hutch’s lips. 

Jack abruptly pushed himself away from the wall. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s better not to get too close to anyone.” He walked away, leaving Hutch to wonder what he was sorry for most. 

oooooooooo 

Hutch didn’t know how much longer he could continue to slip past Jack in the hallway or hang back at the water cooler without it becoming too obvious. The pain etched into the man’s face like a tattoo disturbed him more he thought possible. 

Jack had chosen the wrong man to confide in. Love had always been a mystery to him, whether of family, friends or lovers. He never seemed to get quite right. Only Starsky’s affection, unlikely friends at the academy, had seemed to come easily. But that was something he didn’t dare question, as if to do so in any depth might be to lose the one relationship he’d come to count on. 

Starsky didn’t seem to have the same hesitation in approaching Jack. Maybe having worked through his own tragic losses he was more at ease the grief that accompanies it. Or maybe he was just more comfortable with his feelings. One more thing Hutch envied him. 

He noticed Starsky had stopped to talk with Jack as they passed in the squad room doorway so Hutch busied himself in the paperwork on his desk. A few minutes later Starsky swung his leg over the chair he had turned backwards facing Hutch. Somewhere between the doorway and the desk he had stopped for a cup of coffee. 

"You’re gonna have to get over it, you know.” Starsky took a sip of his coffee then held out the cup, but Hutch waved it away. 

“Get over what?” He tried to focus on the mug shot in front of him. But the face in the picture kept wavering, changing first into a blond-haired police officer lying on a hallway floor and then into the grim-faced man who clutched his hand. 

“Your fear of Jack. That’s not fair. He’s the one who’s suffering, not you.” 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Hutch bristled. 

He didn’t want to hear some well-meaning lecture about death being a part of life, especially from Starsky, who had more right than anyone to know. The thought diminished him. Besides, it wasn’t Jack he was afraid of. 

Starsky shrugged and turned his attention to the file drawer. 

Maybe his father had been right. Maybe he couldn’t make it in the trenches. Maybe he should have stayed in Duluth’s ivory tower like his mother wanted, where his heart had been kept wrapped in cotton. 

He had thought Vanessa would change that, but he’d been wrong. All she’d done was shred his insides like an old scarecrow, leaving pieces of him strewn from Minnesota to California. 

It was Starsky who had surprised them all by being the one to put him back together and bring him to life. 

Emotions were such fragile things. Perhaps they were better left sitting on a shelf. Beautiful to look at but dangerous to touch. 

oooooooooo 

The thought of comradery and cold drinks at the end of their shift was enough to send Starsky into double time – trading in his uniform for a t-shirt, jeans and windbreaker in short order. He’d been talking more and more these days about getting into plain clothes work. It was more his style, he asserted. Besides, he said he’d spent enough years of his life in a uniform that didn’t fit. 

“Come on, Hutch. The guys are waiting for us at Huggy Bear’s.” Starsky called from just beyond the locker room door. 

_Us._ It sparked on Starsky’s tongue like magic, catching and holding Hutch in its spell. But if magician reveals his secrets, the enchantment fades, doesn’t it? 

“You go on ahead.” Hutch sat on the bench holding his shoes and staring at the putty-colored locker. Counting and recounting the dents. He listened for Starsky’s rubber-soled footfalls move off down the hall but heard them come closer instead. 

Hutch set his shoes on the floor then leaned over to work at putting them on. He didn’t look up at Starsky’s approach. He knew what was coming. Starsky had been quick to point out how Hutch had been spending extra time lately at the gym– to impress the new records clerk he’d said - and staying later at the gun range. Checking and rechecking his cartridges, rubbing at the metal of his Magnum until it gleamed more than it had a right to. Second-guessing himself. 

“Tryin’ to get out of our re-match? Or have you just forgotten how to tie your laces.” 

“I could beat you left-handed. I just don’t want to show up you in front of Garrity and Fitz,” Hutch retorted as he concentrated on looping the worn strands one over the other. 

Starsky gave his foot a little kick. “You’d like to think so. But I can beat you right-handed and that’s a fact. Care to up the ante?” 

“What are you proposing?” Hutch looked up to see the mild concern in his partner’s eyes that belied his teasing. It still caught him by surprise at times, the depth and complexity he found there. Starsky wasn’t like anyone he’d ever known. Not the pampered prep-school boys or radical college students Hutch had left behind. Naive one minute, whip-smart the next, with a gentle nature that still could pound a hulking hood to a pulp. 

“Come on and I’ll tell ya.” 

“I thought I’d stop by Vinnie’s for a while. I’ll catch up with you later.” 

“You’re wasting your time. I heard Sharon’s not into blond, Nordic types.” 

“Oh yeah?” Like usual, Hutch couldn't help but take the bait. 

“Yeah. She likes ‘em a little darker. A little more earthy, if ya know what I mean.” Starsky gave him a little wink as his eyes took on a mischievous gleam. Part devil, part angel. All Starsky. 

There was time he’d thought he’d made the right choice in trading the frigid Duluth for the warmth of Bay City. Duluth had as much similarity to Bay City as the moon to the stars. But that was before Hutch had seen how the stars had a way of imploding. 

“We’ll see about that. Later, okay?” He turned away but not quick enough to miss seeing Starsky’s smile fade. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Starsky walked to the door and passed Jack Mason on his way in. 

“Hey, Jack.” Starsky greeted him. “A couple of the guys are heading over to Huggy Bear’s. We’re down a man for pool. Are you in?” 

Jack’s gaze flicked over to Hutch then back at Starsky. 

“Thanks for the invite, Starsky but I think I’ll be heading home. I’m just not up to it yet, you know?” 

“Next time, then.” Starsky patted him on the shoulder as he walked out. Hutch turned back to his shoes. 

“You not going?” Jack directed the question to him. 

“Not tonight.” 

“Hot date?” 

_Why all this sudden interest in his love life? __“No, I just have some other things to do.” Hutch stood and reached for the jacket in his locker._

“More important than blowing off steam with Starsky on a Friday night?” 

Hutch didn’t know how to answer so he let the query hang in the air as he pulled on his jacket. 

Jack stepped in closer. “You know that stuff I said about not getting too close to anyone? That was just my anger talking. Matt wouldn’t have wanted me to say that. He’d want me to be better than that.” 

He touched his arm. An encouraging gesture. “You should go with Starsky. You shouldn’t be afraid.” 

There was that word again. “Afraid of what? Starsky beating me at pool? Not likely.” Hutch winced inwardly at his knee-jerk reaction. He’d made a joke at Starsky’s expense and his partner wasn’t even there to hear it. 

But Jack wasn’t buying it. 

“Caring too much,” he said. “Just like I was.” 

Hutch felt Jack’s eyes study him as he fumbled with his zipper, the same way he had at the funeral. As if trying to read him like an X-ray machine, searching for some flaw or anomaly. 

“I guess I just didn’t know what I was feeling. I was confused.” Regret lingered in his voice like warm coals after a fire. No longer glowing with red heat but still able to sting. “But now I know. Loving someone is no sin. It’s the not telling them that is.” 

“Is that the way you figure it?” Hutch gave his zipper a sharp upward tug and stepped to move past Jack, leaving him standing by the row of putty colored lockers and Hutch feeling like an ass. 

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Hutch was nearly to the door before Jack spoke back up. “By the way, I put in my notice.” 

Hutch stopped and turned around. “You what?” 

“Kim’s moving back to up to Sacramento to be with her parents. I want to see what else is out there for me.” He paused briefly, then continued. “Besides, I see Matt everywhere I go here. It would be better for me move on.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. You’re a good cop, Jack. We’re going to miss you.” Hutch suddenly realized it was the sincerest thing he’d said in a long time. 

“There’s more to the world than just what we see in front of us, Hutch.” 

“What do you mean by that?” It didn't sound like geography he was referring to. 

“Just that people once thought the earth ended at the horizon and if you went beyond that point, you’d fall off. It took some pretty brave people to prove that it wasn’t true. There’s so much more to explore.” 

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, then.” 

“I hope you do, too.” Jack gave him a soft smile. 

oooooooooo 

Hutch dreamed of tall ships sailing toward the horizon. Dark shadows bobbing against the fiery, setting sun. He heard the wails of their comrades on shore as the ships disappeared from view. It was as though they’d fallen off the edge of the world. He couldn’t stop thinking about where they’d gone or if perhaps they’d just turned to flame. And he wondered if he had the courage to follow. 

oooooooooo 

Jerry Spiner had come home early from a night of drinking to find his wife in bed with another man and now held her at gunpoint, enraged and irrational. Hutch could see that the man’s gun hand was shaking, doubtless from alcohol and adrenalin. The combination made him unpredictable and all the more dangerous. They could also see a woman to the man’s left, long tangles of blonde hair half-obscuring her face. 

The sounds of the confrontation had been disruptive enough even in this working class neighborhood to stir a neighbor to make a 911 call. Jerry had waved his Glock at them from the window when they’d come to the door in response to the call. 

All police officers were given strict guidelines for situations they could handle on their own and those that called for special expertise. Hutch figured this was definitely one of the later, yet he itched to do more than hold their position. 

“You cops stay back,” the man shouted at Starsky and Hutch. “You got no business here.” 

“Just calm down.” Hutch told himself as much as the agitated man. “No one else needs to get hurt here.” A beam of light from a broken lamp spotlighted the man off to the side of the modest home’s picture window, holding his wife’s arm in a bruising grip. Her lover was nowhere to be seen, his condition unknown. Backup units were ushering neighbors inside their houses and blocking off the street. 

“My wife ain’t goin’ nowhere. She’s stayin’ right here. I’ll teach her not to run around.” His eyes were wild as he shook his panicked wife. She gathered a loose robe together between her breasts as she cowered away. 

“Just put the gun down and we can work this out.” Hutch held his hands out, palms up and away from his holster. His thoughts spun back to their sessions on dealing with hostages and negotiating tactics. Words on paper lost all meaning in the face with the real thing. Reenactments on videotape were just lousy B movies. 

“There ain’t nothing to work out. This bitch is gonna get what’s comin’ to her.” The man waved his gun at his wife’s head in a threatening, pistol-whip motion. She screamed and the high-pitched sound reverberated through Hutch’s bones. 

“You don’t have to tell me, man.” Starsky suddenly interjected at Hutch’s side. “I know exactly what you’re talkin’ about.” 

_What?_

“See, Hutch. You just don’t get it.” He addressed Hutch dismissively then switched back to the gunman. “Women’ll mess with your head, right Jerry? That is your name, right?” As cool as if he were asking if the man took cream in his coffee. 

“Yeah. They sure as shit do.” All whiskey-laced machismo. 

“Okay, okay. I get it. Come on, Hutch. Let’s go and let Jerry take care of business.” Starsky slid in front of Hutch and nudged him a step back away from the door. 

Somehow, to follow Starsky’s lead seemed instinctive, even though it went against his logic. By the time they had backed away three more steps, Jerry had moved toward the door, bringing his wife along with him. 

“We’re goin’, Jerry. See?” 

“Tell your cop buddies to clear out, too. I don’t want no one hanging around here.”

“You got it.” Starsky looked to the street where several units had gathered to set up a perimeter. “Clear outta here. Everything’s under control,” he shouted at them before turning back to Jerry. “They’re leavin,’ man. Step out here and see for yourself.” 

Hutch’s breath caught in his throat as Jerry cracked open the door and waved the gun at them, his finger hanging on the trigger. “Now, you two.” He gestured at them. 

“We’re leavin’, but I gotta have the gun first.” Starsky told him. 

“No way.” Jerry’s grip on the Glock tightened. Hutch could hear the soft sobs of the woman behind him. 

“Hey, I don’t care if you wanna teach your old lady a lesson, but it’ll have ta be without the gun. Hell, that’s what my old man used to do with my ma. But I guess that takes a _real __man. Not one who hides behind a gun.”_

Starsky wasn’t following any script Hutch had ever heard but didn’t interfere. Then he noticed that Starsky hadn’t taken any more steps back but instead had moved forward, his body slightly angled between Hutch’s and the gunman. 

“What’s the matter, Jerry? Don’t think you’re man enough?” Another step closer. 

_Christ, Starsk, instead of calming him down, you’re egging him on._

“Shut up!” Jerry screeched and hopped from one foot other like a fighter dancing in a ring. 

“Starsk.” Hutch cautioned. He wondered how far away the crisis team was and how he could feel so helpless. And when his concern for the hapless woman had suddenly shifted to include fear for his partner. No, it was something more. 

“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s why she was running around in the first place.” Starsky inched closer and now stood completely in front of Hutch. 

Something slammed into Hutch’s gut as Jerry pointed the gun at Starsky’s face. 

"I said shut up!” 

Hutch heard the click of the hammer being pulled back. Just as he did, Starsky slammed the screen door on Jerry’s arm. A bullet fired off into the driveway, scattering cement fragments like a cherry bomb on the Fourth of July. Starsky didn’t even jump. He reached over and gave a sharp twist to the man’s wrist, causing the gun to fall from his fingers and land with a thud at his shoes. 

Jerry stumbled from the door and Hutch didn’t even need to think. He grabbed his cuffs from his kit belt and snapped them on his wrists. The motion fluid as Starsky retained his hold the man’s arm. As if they’d practiced a thousand times. 

Mrs. Spiner rushed out behind them and sagged to the grass, her thin robe floating around her knees. As if he was watching the scene from outside his body, part of him wanted to sit down alongside her. But another part wanted to reach for his partner and hold on tight. 

“What the h. . . hell was that?” Hutch demanded sharply but his stutter betrayed his nerves. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it. 

“Improvisation.” Starsky sent him a shaky grin as together they hustled Jerry to their cruiser. 

oooooooooo 

“Ours might be the shortest partnership on record if you keep that up.” Hutch had given in and joined Starsky for a beer at Huggy Bear’s. Although it wasn’t that he was feeling celebratory. In fact, he didn’t know exactly _what_ he was feeling. All he knew was that as he watched Starsky’s confrontation earlier, something inside seemed to shift, like a wavelength invisible to the naked eye. 

“Hey, if worked didn’t it?” Starsky saluted him with a beer bottle. 

“Lucky for you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re losin’ your nerve.” He shot him a mischievous smile and Hutch responded without thinking. 

_“Better than losing a partner.”_

Starsky went quiet. 

_Damn._ He’d gone too far. Admitted something too personal. Pain shot through Hutch like he’d been touched by a cattle prod. Maybe he shouldn’t have come to Huggy’s but after what had happened earlier that night he hadn’t been ready to let Starsky out of his sight. 

He tried to come up with some other barb to toss out and fortify the fence wrapped around him. Instead Hutch tossed some bills that fluttered across the table. “I have to get out of here.” He stood to leave. 

“What’s the rush?” Starsky asked. 

Hutch mumbled something about having ‘things to do’ as he pushed past him toward the door, too flustered to care if he was being rude. He hadn’t made it to the LTD parked in the back lot before Starsky grabbed his arm, halting his forward motion and half spinning him around. 

“Hey, I’m didn’t mean that. About you losin’ about your nerve and all.” 

“Sure, whatever.” 

“Hutch, seriously. You’re one of the bravest guys I know. It’s just that sometimes _you_ don’t know it.” 

There it was again. That shift inside of him. 

“What’s eatin’ you, anyway?” 

“Nothing.” He turned reluctantly to fully face his partner. Hutch knew that look too well to think Starsky could be put off further. Like when he’d gotten the phone call that his parents weren’t coming to his graduation or the divorce papers from Vanessa. Starsky been the one to stay when everyone else left. 

“I don’t buy that. Something’s been bugging you ever since Matt . . . ” 

Hutch stiffened. Starsky relaxed the hold on his arm but didn’t let go. 

“What’s going on? What did Jack say to you anyway?” There was a hint of protectiveness in the question Hutch was only now beginning to grasp. 

“Just some stuff about not getting a chance t. . t. . . to. . . ” Hutch’s throat constricted. It was happening again. The stutter that seemed to choke him whenever he became too agitated. When his emotions rushed in too quickly, threatening to destroy the composure he clung to so desperately. 

“To what, Hutch?” Starsky’s voice was softer now. His hand on his arm became more of a caress. There was no mistaking it. Hutch looked at the hand and trembled. 

“To tell Matt how much he m . . . meant to him before he died.” 

“Jesus,” Starsky sighed. He released his hold and moved to lean back against LTD, his palms braced behind him on the hood. Hutch stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and looked down, focusing on a discarded cigarette butt just outside the street lamp’s circle of light. 

“He said he was confused.” Beyond the light he thought he saw two shadows like ghosts; one slipping away, one desperately hanging on. He clenched his fists inside his pockets. 

“About what?” Starsky’s question was gentle. 

“A lot of things. About how he felt about Matt and not getting the chance to tell him. He thought maybe he cared too much. He said he needed to sort things out.” 

“So that’s why he left.” It never took Starsky long to figure people out. “What about you? Are you confused, too?” Soft as velvet, the words enfolded Hutch in their warmth. 

Hutch closed his eyes against the shadows. “Maybe. I just don’t want to lose you before I get the chance to . . .” 

He swallowed and slowly he reopened his eyes. Starsky that was no longer propped against the hood. Instead, he’d moved in close enough that the toes of his tennis shoes were bathed in the glow of the streetlight, inches from his own. 

“Caring ain’t nothin’ to be scared of.” The velvety voice whispered. 

Hutch looked up to see the dark sapphire rings of Stasky’s eyes and drew in a shaky breath. He understood that whatever he said in the next minutes wouldn’t be brushed off or re-worked into something more palatable, the way his mother, father, or Vanessa used to do. That Starsky wouldn’t be shocked or disappointed or walk away. 

“Caring. Is that what it is?” 

"What do you _want_ it to be?” Starsky lifted his hand and touched a rough thumb to Hutch’s lip. 

Hutch didn’t know and for once he didn’t mind not having all the answers. Whatever it was, it made him feel alive. He didn't know where this was heading, but like old the world explorers who discovered there really _was_ life beyond the horizon, for once he wasn't afraid of falling off the edge. 

**FIN**


End file.
